Meeting Elizaveta
by Zelofheda
Summary: Lucas North meets the woman who will later become his wife, Elizaveta Starkova. A 1500-word challenge fic.


This is a 1500-word story that I wrote for Fanfic Challenge #10 over at the Armitage Army site; how Lucas North met his wife, Elizaveta Starkova. Constructive criticism is very welcome, as is any kind of feedback.

Disclaimer: The characters of Lucas North and Elizaveta Starkova, and the television series Spooks belong to BBC and Kudos. I am only writing for fun with no intention to profit.

xxxxx

There was, Lucas North thought, nothing better than attending a play based on the life and works of William Blake, unless it was finding yourself in the third row next to a beautiful young woman. As he sat down next to her, he smiled, and she smiled back distantly, then returned to reading her program. Lucas watched her lips move as she read one of the poems that had been printed there, and wondered if she were savouring Blake's language as much as he always did.

The play started, and Lucas forgot all about the girl in the next seat as he concentrated on the performance. He only became aware of her again when the curtain fell and the lights came up to signal the intermission. She sat there, staring at the stage with a very disgruntled look on her face that Lucas found alarming in contrast to his own satisfaction. He leaned over and asked, "Didn't you like it?"

"I did not understand it," the girl said, with a heavy accent that Lucas thought might be Russian. The people behind her wanted to get through, so she stood up and followed Lucas out of the auditorium. At the door, before she could get lost in the crowd, Lucas turned back and asked, "Can I buy you a drink and we can talk about what you didn't understand?"

The girl smiled without hesitating. "Thank you. I would like a drink."

Lucas was close to feeling impatient by the time he got to the front of the queue for drinks, and close to worry when he finally got two flutes of champagne only to find that the girl was no longer in sight. But he'd barely taken a few steps away from the counter when he spotted her, coming around the corner and scanning the crowd until she found him. Their eyes met, and they moved towards each other, meeting in the middle.

"I'm sorry, I had to go to the loo and there was a queue," the girl said, carefully emphasizing the articles 'the' and 'a' which did not exist in Russian. "Thank you for the drink."

She took the flute from his outstretched hand and they sipped together.

"Are you from Russia?" Lucas asked.

Surpised, the girl nodded. "I live here for a year to improve my English."

Switching to Russian, Lucas said, "I spent a year in Moscow, but I would still like to improve my Russian even more."

The girl smiled, but continued to speak English. "You speak Russian very well. Much better than my English, I am sure. Please, no offense, but I did not come to London to speak Russian, I came to speak English."

"I'm not offended." Lucas switched back to English. "I should have known better. When I was in Moscow, every time I opened my mouth, everybody tried to speak English to me."

The girl laughed, then said, "Yes, it is more exciting that way. We all learn English in school but we hardly ever have the chance to use it. Here, I am lucky that not so many people speak Russian. Where did you learn it?"

"At university," Lucas told her.

"Oxford?" she guessed. "Cambridge?"

"Leeds," he corrected her.

"I have never been to Leeds," she said. "Only here to London."

"You should go," he urged her. "Some people say that Leeds is a tip, but I don't think so."

"A tip?" She wrinkled her forehead at the unfamiliar usage of the word.

"A rubbish tip, an ugly place," Lucas explained, and as her face brightened in comprehension, he went on, "So you're trying to improve your English by studying William Blake?"

"I try to improve my English at the theatre," she said. "Perhaps more expensive than to stay home and watch television, but more exciting. Also, my downstairs neighbour is actor. He gave me free ticket."

"He's acting in this?" Lucas asked, and the girl nodded while taking a sip of her champagne. "Which character is he playing?"

"Hold this, please," the girl said, giving him her glass. There was only a swallow of champagne left at the bottom. She opened her program and looked down the list of actors, then said, "Fuzon. I do not think he has come on yet."

Looking over her shoulder, Lucas could see the actor's name, David McDonald, next to the name. "No, he hasn't."

"I really only came to see him." The girl closed her program and reached for her champagne glass again.

Lucas lifted his own flute to his mouth, then realized it was no longer halfway full, but almost empty. "Wait, I think you've got the wrong glass. This is yours."

Just as he spoke, the gong rang to tell them to take their seats again. The girl froze, staring at him in horror with a mouthful of liquid, then decided she had no choice but to swallow, and almost choked. Coughing, she exclaimed, "I am so sorry! I was very distracted."

"No, it's all right," Lucas said. "And don't worry, I haven't got anything that's catching."

"Catching … what?" she asked, confused. Lucas explained the phrase, then took the last swallow from her flute to show her that it really was okay.

"I haven't got anything that's catching, too," the girl said, trying out her new phrase, and after Lucas had found a place to dump both glasses, they went back to their seats smiling at each other.

Just before the play finished, Lucas risked a sideways glance at the girl. The friendly smile had disappeared from her face, to be replaced by confusion and boredom. Lucas applauded all the actors as they came out for their curtain calls, but noticed that the girl only clapped for her friend.

"Was it really so awful?" he asked when the sparse applause had died away and everybody was leaving. They joined the throng of people headed for the coat counter.

"It was … experimental," the girl replied, and then admitted, "Yes, it was awful. There was so much I did not understand, but I did not have to pay for ticket, so ..."

"Will you tell him that?" Lucas asked, admiring her hair. It was dark, almost equal in shade to his own, but longer and sleeker. She had it pulled back in a simple ponytail; he wondered what it would look like loose around her shoulders.

"Who?" She had been staring at his face, but now she blinked.

"Your actor friend. Fuzon." Lucas hoped she hadn't been staring at his nose, the way people had done all his life.

"No, I will not tell him that. I will say he did very well. Actors always want to be praised," she mused. "My sister was in theatre group. She always asked, 'How was I?'"

"I know exactly what you mean," Lucas remarked. "I was in amateur dramatics at university, and I used to drive my friends mad, asking them for their opinions. I was hoping they'd analyze my performance in detail, but they never did."

"You are actor, too?" the girl asked, but Lucas shook his head. "No, just a few plays for fun, that's all."

"Perhaps you are English teacher?" the girl suggested slyly. "Poetry?"

Lucas smirked at the thought of himself standing in front of a class expounding on iambic pentameter. "Definitely not."

"You have beautiful voice," she said. "You could read poetry very well. And beautiful eyes."

She hadn't been staring at his nose! Pleased, Lucas asked, "And you, beautiful woman, what career plans do you have?"

"Businesswoman," she said immediately. "Import-export, and I will make millions of pounds."

Lucas laughed at her statement. "With an attitude like that, I think you will be very successful."

She smiled, and he continued, "My name is Lucas, by the way. Lucas North." He put out his hand and they shook.

"Elizaveta Starkova," she said. "My friends in Russia call me Lizochka, but here, everybody only calls me Elizaveta."

"I could call you Lizochka," Lucas offered, knowing how much nicknames meant to Russians, and was gratified when she smiled. "My friends just call me Lucas." He shrugged apologetically. "It's hard to make a good nickname out of that."

"Lukoshka," Elizaveta replied instantly.

"I like that," Lucas said. "Lizochka, can I drive you home? Perhaps we could stop for coffee on the way, and I could tell you more about William Blake."

Elizaveta's smile faded. "Lukoshka, I am so sorry! I already said I would meet David – my friend – afterwards."

Lucas felt a stab of disappointment. "All right, then, maybe another time. Can I call you?"

"You can call me," Elizaveta said. "Or I will call you. But I have had enough of William Blake and so we will talk about other things."

"All right," Lucas said. He found a pen in his coat pocket, and as they wrote down their telephone numbers for each other, he resolved to find, and memorize, some really good Russian love poetry.


End file.
